I Love You, Roger!
by Scarfy
Summary: He looked back up at me expectantly, and I slowly pulled the torn edges of the paper away from each other, revealing...revealing Mimi's handwriting. [postRENT][tragic][oneshot][r&r]


**Stats:**

Title: I Love You, Roger!  
Author: AC (a-bit-of-wit)  
Feedback: IS ADDICTIVE.  
Pairing: Roger/Mimi, Mark  
Word Count: 1771 Words.   
Rating: PG-13 for language.  
Genre: Romance/Tragic  
Summary: "He looked back up at me expectantly, and I slowly pulled the torn edges of the paper away from each other, revealing...revealing Mimi's handwriting."  
Notes: Ultra-Sad. A bit long. Cookies for people who can tell me aaaall the symbolism.  
Special Thanks: To Sallie. Because she beta'd. And I made her cry (Yes, I take sick pleasure in that).  
Spoilers: N/A  
Warnings: Extreme Sadness Ahoy! And I'll hurt you if you don't give me feedback. Well, I'll want to. This was last night and tonight's worth of work. I want to know how I did. :3  
Disclaimer: Mr. Larson owns RENT. And my soul.

**Challenges Used:**

**CHALLENGE #63**  
-Your challenge is to write a fic in the first person, recounting love, loss and friendship.  
-Your fic MUST be Post-RENT, this means that Angel can not be alive.  
-You may choose any RENT character (not Angel).  
-Your fic MUST contain NO DIALOGUE.

**CHALLENGE #49**  
-Use the prompt: discovery.  
-You may write for any RENT characters

**CHALLENGE #65**  
-Use the prompt: beginnings of endings.  
-You may write for any RENT character

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In Roger's shaking hand, I could hardly tell what it was. A piece of notebook paper, lined with fringe on the side- as if it had been recently torn out of a notepad. When I only stared, he shook it again, indicating to me he wanted me to take it.

He had been so different, since Mimi had...left. Not the grieving sulking Roger I knew, but a thoughtful confused one I never thought existed. He persisted, and I slowly pulled the paper from his fingers.

He gave me a small glance, and then slowly made his way over to the counter. When Mimi had died, the first thing Roger did when he came to the loft was grab one of those long living candles- the ones that could light for seven days. I watched him lean over and slowly blow out the dying flame in the dark loft, and grab another match and relight the wick.

I didn't know what it meant to him, but he watched it like a hawk. That candle wasn't going to die on him like Mimi did. He was going to coax it through seven days. And that's what he did. The wax had gone down to the bottom of the glass cylinder, and the wick was torn and black at the edges, yet he still lit it every time it was about to go.

Like Mimi, we all knew that the candle wasn't going to last much longer. And like Mimi, the flame was going to flicker and eventually die.

He looked back up at me expectantly, and I slowly pulled the torn edges of the paper away from each other, revealing...

Revealing Mimi's handwriting.

I stared back at him, but his eyes were back on that candle.

I couldn't look at it. It was seven days. Her death still stung.

A sigh, weaker then I wanted it to be, pushed it's way out of me and I forced open the note again.

Mimi's handwriting was neat and delicate as always, a nice cursive. It got sloppier and sloppier towards the end, but the first three sentences were surprisingly calm.

"_Roger-_

_There's so much I need to say and not a lot time to say it. All I really need to do is write "I love you, Roger!" until my arm cramps up and falls off, but I'll give you a little more to remember me by. Because I am so generous like that."_

I knew it was her goodbye message even at there. I felt my hand dig into the paper, forcing myself to hold it steadily in front of my face. Mimi, even when she's dying... Eerily Typical.

"_I guess I'm getting scared now. No one in the room and it's getting harder to breathe. I don't know where you went, but you were just gone. So I grabbed your paper and pen, because you wanted to write a song for me. You wanted to write a song for me before I-"_

There was a long space here, and the next word was written sloppily and worriedly.

"_Died."_

I looked up at Roger, who was still religiously babying the candle. The flame was growing smaller again, and I saw him desperately try to bring life to it. I forced myself to stare back at the letter.

"_That felt a lot better then I thought it would, really. I wonder if that's how Angel felt when she knew she was going to go. It's not peace, because I still scared as hell. Maybe it's because It feels like this damn oxygen mask isn't working and I'm underwater, and I can't see what I'm writing. So don't fucking make fun of me if I spell something wrong or if my words run into each other. I'm trying."_

Again, another startlingly alive comment. I pressed a hand against my forehead, trying to regain my focus on the paper.

"_I don't know how much more time I have left, Roger, I really don't. I don't know what I want to say. I don't know what I need to say. I don't really need a strong finish, so incase I don't get that far- Just know I love you. More then anything."_

My eyes danced over to Roger, who was still attempt to keep the candle going. It was almost as if he was begging for it to live. But the wick was slowly slipping down. Time was running out. It was the seventh day. The flame was going to go.

"_As selfish as it sounds, I hate to be the first to leave after Angel. I hate I have to signify that the slow steady decline is going to speed up. But I'm going to."_

The letter became blurred for a moment, and I quickly rubbed a hand over my eyes, attempting to catch the tears before they fell. I steadied my hand, which like Roger's, suddenly turned weak.

"_I would do anything for more days with you and Mark in the loft talking about anything and everything. I'd do anything to hear you two laugh- actually carefree instead of pretending to be- again_ _even if it is at my expense."_

I couldn't read the next sentence, but I could almost see Mimi's expression while writing it- affectionate. It took me a few seconds to translate.

"_Mark's seemed so out of it lately. You two take care of each other. I wouldn't be able to stand watching the world go by without one of those famous Roger and Mark laughs-_ _and it takes two of you do to it."_

I knew what she was talking. I'd notice at times, when all three of us were laughing, Mimi would just stop all of the sudden and stare admiringly at us- too happy to stop laughing at all.

"_I'd do anything for one last 'Girls Night Out' dinner with Maureen and Joanne, giggling about how you guys don't know what we were saying but missing you all too much and too quickly to really enjoy it."_

I remembered when the tree of them used to go out. Roger and I would sit around and wonder what they were talking about. I suddenly realized that there would be no more of these dinners- they had started them because Joanne and Maureen wanted to get closer to Mimi before she died. What were they going to do know thatit was only them? Who was going to keep the peace?

"_I'd do anything for more talks with Collins about Angel, which usually end up in blissful but teary conversation for the both of us. Sometimes, for that fleeting moment, it feels like she's alive again._"

Collins had needed those talks. I don't know what he would do without them. He had been so alone and somewhat off since Angel had died. He came up to the loft almost everyday- no longer to see us, but Mimi. What would he do now that she was gone? What was he going to do know that the one person that completely understood him left here was gone?

"_I'd do anything to hear you whisper something you thought was romantic in my ear, knowing you just want the sex. I know you, Roger. You always want the sex."_

I ran my finger over an old wet mark in the paper, pulling away when I recognized what it was. A tear stain. It seemed to burn at my fingertips, and I had to furiously rub my sleeve against my eye again. My next thoughts stuck me hard.

What was Roger going to do with out Mimi?

Suddenly, the writing became frantic. Well developed cursive died off into a quick and frightened scrawl, and I noticed the recent tear stains between my fingers. Those were Roger's. They seemed to burn under my skin, too.

Scared myself, I looked back at Roger who's manner seemed just as frantic as the writing. He was pleading with the flame, slowly blowing under it to keep it alive. It weakly fought with the force bringing to down, but Roger knew that the fight would soon be futile.

"_I love you, Roger. Thank you for everything. Thank you for bringing me into this family. Thank you for giving me this time. Thank you for loving me. Thank you-"_

There was a large mark with the pen, and I could where it slowly dived down. There was a second dash to the side, and I slowly realized that Mimi had dropped the pen. That this was her dying. I thought Roger was there but... but maybe he wasn't.

"_Thank you for lighting my candle. Thank you for keeping it living. Thank you for lighting it over and over again, never letting it die out."_

The old tear stains returned. They almost seemed to bite through the paper, outlining the old message and circling the words, dotting the emotional notes with a final seal.

"_It's okay now, Roger. It's okay. I can go now. It's okay- I promise. I'm going to be okay. I know you will be too. Goodbye. "_

I took me a few second to figure out what the last messy scrawl said. When I did, it was like a kick to the stomach.

"_I love you, Roger! I love you, Roger! I love you, Roger!_ _I love you, Roger! I love you, Roger! I love you, Roger!_ _I love you, Roger! I love you, Roger! I love you, Roger!_ _I love you, Ro-"_

The pen dived down into the paper for the final time, and I ran my hand over the engrave, feeling over the large line as it dived to the end of the paper sideways. My hands started shaking again, and I couldn't stop them.

There, in the hospital bed, without anyone or anything in the world but a pen and a notebook, Mimi had died.

I looked back at Roger, who's was shaking like I was. His body was crooned over the candle, holding it steady. Like the stains on the paper, I could see where the tears had ran down his face- seeming almost awkward there. He clutched the glass base firmly between his hands, then leaned over to the dying flame, taking in a light breath.

Roger blew out the candle.


End file.
